Reborn, Revered, Repulsed
by DustInTheLight
Summary: Crowley is unexpectedly reborn and restored to his former post as an angel. Aziraphale helps him cope. Most likely just a short fic with only a couple of chapters, but I might continue it if I get inspired to do so.
1. The Cold

It was a day like any other, that being as normal as a day could be in the life of a Fallen angel. Crowley woke early to greet the dawn with his usual scowl, shrugged into tight-fitting pants and a suave leather jacket, and ran his fingers through his hair. Briefly, he considered growing it out again. He rather missed the long curls he'd been naturally Created with, and while he loathed to admit it, he wanted to feel Aziraphale's fingers running through them, pulling them into braids and… perhaps pulling them for entirely different reasons.

Shrugging off the notion, he lifted his glasses from his dressing table and pulled them over his face. He always felt like he could let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding whenever he covered his eyes. He'd never liked them - they were a symbol of his Falling, and he'd grown tired of the apprehensive stares they attracted.

He prowled into the next room over, not bothering to pick his discarded nightclothes off the floor or make his elegant bed, instead firmly telling himself that it made the apartment feel somewhat lived in. Should anyone choose to pay him a visit, he'd simply snap his fingers and it'd all go back to the way it was. He snatched the plant mister from its shelf and made his usual predatory rounds of his house plants, spraying them all down.

"Morning, pets," he growled. "Growing well, are we? I'd bloody well hope so, if I were you." The greenery began to tremble, as was the norm whenever he addressed his growing friends. He inspected each leaf with a narrowed eye, growling at those whom he felt could be performing with more vigour.

It was then that he started to feel... wrong. Somewhere deep in his chest, he felt cold, almost itchy. He reached up a hand to absent-mindedly scratch at his breast, unwilling to pay much attention as he finished making his rounds. He certainly noticed it, but it soon faded as he dumped down the mister and he shrugged it off as an after-effect of the previous night's drinking. He and Aziraphale had celebrated their six-month anniversary of the Not-Apocalypse, and had torn through a rather shocking amount of Zira's private stash of long-preserved alcohol.

Regardless, the feeling vanished, and as he grabbed his car keys and headed out to see his angel, he forgot all about it.

* * *

He next felt it during lunch out at the Ritz.

This time, the cold feeling seized his lungs, gripping them tightly for a moment and squeezing a surprised gasp from the demon. He coughed, lowering his eyes to try and shrug off the noise, but unfortunately, not much got past Aziraphale.

"Crowley?" The angel furrowed his brow, inspecting his friend. "Good lord, whatever's wrong?"

"Nothing," Crowley almost hissed, his lungs still tight. He managed to take a deep breath as he got control over the icy irritation in his chest. "All good here."

Aziraphale frowned, clearly not sold by Crowley's excuse. "Something's wrong here."

"No, no no, please, just enjoy your lunch, it's-"

"Crowley, no. Something wrong with you." His cool hand rested on Crowley's jaw, tilting his face up so the pair locked eyes. "Please, tell me."

_Damned angel. _He'd always had so much power over the demon, not that he'd ever said so - he'd certainly showed it enough, when he slept the entire 14th century away after they'd had an argument.

"Chest... feels tight," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. Zira always managed to find the vulnerability within him. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Aziraphale lifted a hand and politely asked for the cheque. Crowley frowned.

"Angel, no, please, I don't want to-"

"You're coming home with me, dear. I want to keep an eye on you." The angel quickly paid for their food, and led Crowley outside before rushing them back to the bookshop with a wave of his hand. Crowley grunted as the ground beneath their feet shifted during the miracle, and sagged onto Zira's couch as soon as he was stable.

"Bit reckless, that, wasn't it?" he grumbled, taking deep breaths as he tried to force the tautness from his chest.

"Right," Aziraphale said, shifting into a professional mindset without any regard for Crowley's concerns for his carelessness. "Are you in pain?"

"Zira," Crowley murmured, pulling his sunglasses off and looking his angel dead in the eyes. He could only ever do this with Aziraphale. "What if someone saw?"

"Nobody did," the angel gently insisted. "Everyone in the area miraculously had something else to look at, shoes to tie..."

Crowley flashed him a gentle grin. Aziraphale might be a tad frivalent with his miracles, but he'd be damned if it didn't make him feel good to know the angel had his back.

"Are you in pain, Crowley?"

"...Yeah," Crowley admitted, his cheeks heating as he admitted it. "Yeah, I kinda am."

"Where?"

Crowley hesitated, before he shrugged out of his jacket. He guided Zira's hands to either side of his ribcage. "Right here..." The coldness only seemed to be spreading this time instead of quickly fading, but Aziraphale gently massaged the skin on his ribs. His touch was soothing, and Crowley sighed with some relief as the pain started to ease. He couldn't tell if Aziraphale was using another miracle to relax his muscles, or if it was just because it was Aziraphale touching him like this. Either way, it was working, slowly.

Over time, the coldness ebbed away, leaving Crowley gasping for breath and somewhat clammy. He found sweat beading at his brow, and as the clenching at his lungs faded, he let his jaw hang open to swallow as much air as possible. Of course, he didn't _need_ to breathe, not really, but it was definitely far more comfortable.

Aziraphale brushed a stray lock of hair out of Crowley's eyes.

"You're staying here for the night, dear. You can take my room - I don't sleep often, anyway."

Finding himself worn out by the pain, the demon could only nod and allow Zira to lead him upstairs.

* * *

Crowley awoke the next morning in agony. His entire body was tense, his muscles cramping of their own volition.

"Shit," he gasped, doubling over. He tried to pull himself out of bed, but he ended up toppling to the floor and lay there, helpless as the pain continued. He heard footsteps clambering up the stairs, and soon soft hand rested on his shoulders, gently shaking him.

"Crowley! Crowley, love, can you hear me?"

"Az..z...zzira..." Crowley managed to choke out, before he felt himself being pulled out of his body and up into the sky. Out of the confines of his body the pain lessened somewhat, but he still felt constricted and chilled. Up, up, up he soared, shivering in what he swore to himself was just the cold, and not sheer terror. _Demons don't feel fear,_ he told himself. _Not this demon, anyway_.

He found himself pulled into a vast expanse of white, stretching endlessly into the horizon. Tufts of what appeared to be clouds rimmed the horizon and floated past Crowley, while above he saw an expanse of glorious stars, unmarred by pollution. He found himself choking up as he saw the stars he'd helped to create untouched by man's poisoned skies for the first time in decades.

He was brought to his senses by a deep, calm voice, resonating deep within his chest.

"_Demon Crowley_," the voice murmured, female and unmistakably wise. He knew exactly who it was.

"Is... is that you, Lord?" he answered, hesitating. He was confused and hurt - hearing her voice again after millennia was bittersweet, when he had once loved her endlessly as his Creator.

"_It is. I've been watching you_," she spoke with endless grace, but it did nothing to reassure Crowley.

"I, eh... assume you're not entirely happy with me?" he guessed.

"_What brings you to that assumption_?" She sounded amused. Crowley didn't like this at all. He felt unease crawling up his spine.

"Considering I helped halt Armageddon and, eh... fraternised with your angel?"

"_If I had a problem with your 'fraternising', as you choose to put it, I would have put a stop to it a long time ago, Crowley. No, I'm rather pleased with you_."

"You... you're what?" Crowley was struck dumb. The last time he'd spoken with the Almighty, she'd cast him down into a pool of boiling sulphur to burn, and condemned him for the sin of open curiosity. Hearing what sounded like praise nearly shook him out of his skin - well, would have, had his soul not been pulled to the ethereal plane and out of his body already.

"_I'm pleased with you, my Creation. You are a demon who learned to love, and fought for that love against your own forces. You protected and mourned my angel._"

Crowley shuddered. Demons didn't love. They didn't feel love, weren't allowed to feel love... and yet he knew it was true. What else could he possibly feel for Aziraphale, for the world? His actions may have been overtly selfish as all demons' are, but he fought most vehemently when it was what he loved on the line.

"_You've shown yourself worthy of redemption, Crowley._"

"I - what?"

"_You Fell by my word, and now I bring you home. You've found the light once more, my child.__ My Raphael._"

Crowley was speechless, wracked with confusion and shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but even as time ticked by, he had nothing to say.

"I'm... I..."

"_Welcome back to Heaven, my love._"

A flash of blinding light, and Crowley was gone.

* * *

Aziraphale heard the thump of a body hitting the ground, and immediately knew something was wrong. He shot up the stairs and saw Crowley's prone figure on the ground, trembling and gasping for air.

"Crowley!" he yelped, dashing over and kneeling beside his friend. He gently shook him by the shoulder, desperate for any response, any sign of awareness. "Crowley, love, can you hear me?"

Crowley twitched, groaning, drool bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

"Az..z...zzira..." he groaned, before he went completely still and silent. Aziraphale panicked, unsure what exactly to do in this situation. Having read almost every book in existence, he knew basic first aid, but he knew that nothing in that book would necessarily apply to occult beings. Regardless, he was desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

He shifted his friend into the recovery position, careful to tilt his head to clear his airway and make sure he couldn't hurt himself should he convulse. He paced the room, confused and frightened, unsure what to do. He kept an eagle eye on his friend, ready to jump in at the drop of a pin. He was gone for minutes, but it felt like hours.

He made a mental tally in his mind, counting all the possible outcomes of this situation that he could think of. He came up with dozens, but when Crowley finally moved, it happened in a way that Aziraphale hadn't predicted. A flash of blinding light filled the room, making Zira yelp and shield his eyes. A gentle, warm voice filled the room for a moment.

"_Welcome back to Heaven, my love._"

When the light subsided, Crowley was there, but... something was different. His scent was something Aziraphale wasn't used to - no longer did he carry the faint smell of smoke and ash, but instead he smelled of petrichor and pine. His wings had erupted from his back, but...

Dear, sweet Almighty.

His wings were stark white.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I hope you enjoyed this fic! I've had it in mind for a while since I've seen lots of fics of Aziraphale Falling, and it just got me thinking... what if? I hope to add another chapter to this, who knows where it'll go?

I'd love it if you could review this and let me know if you liked it!


	2. Reborn

The first thing Crowley became aware of was how abnormally cold it was. Before he could even open his eyes, he shivered and drew his wings closer about himself, almost hugging himself. After a few seconds, he groggily opened his eyes, and cringed at the brightness. His eyes felt new, unused, raw. The light nearly burned them, and he lifted one wing to cover them, before he froze.

His feathers, usually a lovely inky black, were the soft white of snowfall. He whimpered, scrambling up into a sitting position, and stroked his wing reluctantly. He looked around, rather terrified, and recognised that he'd been moved back into Aziraphale's bed. _I must have been out for a while_, he thought to himself, distinctly remembering hitting the floor before... before...

"What the hell happened to me?" Crowley breathed quietly. He craned his neck to the side, trying to hear something, anything, and picked up the gentle rumblings of the bookshop. Zira was talking to someone, some unfamiliar voice, so Crowley assumed he had customers.

"Must have been out for a while then, if he opened up shop again..."

He slipped out of bed, finding his legs to be somewhat wobbly, and shifted his wings back to the ethereal plane. He felt somewhat woozy, although he suspected it just to be nerves. Almighty knew he was nervous, as much as he hated to admit it.

He examined himself, noticing Aziraphale had changed his clothes into some of his nightclothes. _He must have gone back to my apartment, then. Lord, how long **was** I out? _What surprised him more, however, was his hair - it had reverted back to its original state of long, thick curls, running down past his shoulders. While surprising, he wasn't disappointed - he'd been thinking more and more often about growing it out, and while he didn't understand... whatever the Hell had happened to him, he was pleased by this change.

He brushed his silken outfit down and shakily made his way downstairs to the shop, looking around anxiously for Aziraphale. He spotted him by the door, doing his usual and trying to politely convince a customer not to buy a crumbling copy of _The Canterville Ghost_. Zira's back was to Crowley and his tone was light and kind as ever. The customer he was speaking to, a young woman, glanced over at Crowley as he entered the room. Her eyes dashed between Aziraphale and Crowley, her lips curling into a cheeky smile, and Zira looked around to see his friend. A relieved grin split his face, although his eyes clouded over with worry.

"I'll just head out," the young woman smiled, putting down the book and shuffling out of the shop.

"Hey," Crowley murmured hoarsely when she'd gone.

"Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, his voice thick. "You're awake."

"You know, that girl made a lot of assumptions about us, there."

"You're _awake_," Aziraphale repeated, rushing forward to pull Crowley into a hug. This took him somewhat by surprise, but he returned the hug with fervour as he realised how starved for affection he'd felt.

"How..." Crowley swallowed thickly. "How long was I out?"

"A week, I'm afraid. Do you remember anything?"

"I... fell out of bed, and.." He frowned, and Zira looked up at him with concern.

"I... think I met the Almighty," Crowley admitted, and Zira's face went blank with shock.

"You spoke to Her?" he breathed.

"Yeah... She said She was happy with me. With us." He blushed somewhat as he remembered what had been said. "She... approves of this. Us. Just so you know."

"She does?" Aziraphale beamed, his eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning.

"Yeah." Crowley touched his forehead to Zira's gently, closing his eyes.

"I think... she's brought me back."

"Back?"

"You know... restored me. I'm not... not a demon anymore. I think."

Aziraphale gently rested his hand on Crowley's jaw.

"I... think that may be true. Your wings are white, and your eyes..."

"My eyes?" Crowley opened them again at the realisation that he hadn't seen them yet.

"They're more... normal? Not quite so snakelike."

Aziraphale miracled up a little handheld mirror and offered it to his friend. He took it nervously, hesitant to see himself, but he didn't want to delay the inevitable more than necessary. He angled the mirror towards himself, his breath catching as he saw himself.

His eyes were still his usual burning amber, but his sclera was visible and his irises were perfectly round once more. His pupils, still slightly slanted, were much more dilated and looked much closer to human pupils, which would explain why everything felt so much brighter to him now.

"Damn," he breathed, handing the mirror back to Zira. "What... what does this mean?"

"Well," the angel commented, carefully considering his words. "You certainly can't go back to Hell in this condition. I think we should speak to Gabriel."

Crowley groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between a forefinger and thumb.

"Oh please don't, Zira. I don't want to spend any longer in his company than I have to, the smug, self-satisfied bastard."

"Oh, believe me, love, I don't like him any more than you do."

"Try me," Crowley growled. Ever since their trial, he'd felt nothing but seething hatred towards Gabriel, ever since he'd heard him sentence his angel to death with so little remorse.

"But what other option do we have, really?" Aziraphale reasoned gently. "You're an angel again, now. You're..."

He furrowed his brow. "Who were you, Crowley? Before, I mean?"

Crowley grimaced. "Raphael," he answered grimly.

"The Archangel?" Zira gaped at him, shocked. "You're Raphael?"

"_Was_," Crowley corrected him, his tone somewhat more harsh than he'd intended. He felt a pang of guilt for it as Zira looked put out. "I'll never be him again. But... maybe you're right. We should at least... try and talk to someone about this. Find out what's going on."

* * *

**Author's Note:** So this is much shorter than I originally planned as I cut the original chapter in half, but I wanted to get a new chapter out today! The next one will likely be out tomorrow.


	3. Judgement

The trip to Heaven's main office was a shaky one. Crowley's legs were wobbly after a week without use and he couldn't shake the wooziness of his anxiety at the situation. Whether he liked it or not, he couldn't deny that he was quite a vulnerable being - he'd known that for sure after meeting Aziraphale and discovering that as much as he hated the fact that it was so, he was desperately, head-over-heels in love with this angel. Thinking back, however, he figured he'd been vulnerable even before his Falling. He'd been a curious soul, always wanting to know more, to understand, and his punishment had hardened his heart but sealed the fear inside.

Zira led him into the gargantuan building leading up to Heaven, holding Crowley's skeletal hand firmly in his own. Every so often, when he sensed his friend growing wary, he'd run a well-kept thumb gently over Crowley's knuckle, stirring something deep in the ex-demon's heart.

"Are you ready?" he asked when they'd reached the foot of the escalator. His pale eyes were soft as he'd fully assumed the role of guardian over Crowley, but past his cool exterior, Crowley could see his fear. His angel was just as afraid as he was himself, that much was clear.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Angel," Crowley mumbled, shuffling his feet. He lightly squeezed Zira's hand, while his free one was buried in his jacket pocket, gripping a pen and clicking the top open and closed over and over, matching his heartbeat. His gut wrenched as he realised that his affectionate nickname for Aziraphale no longer held the same meaning it once had. Ever since his night-painted feathers had been blasted with harsh ice, he'd lost all he'd defined as his identity.

Zira's eyes glided over Crowley's face for a moment longer before he turned and stepped onto the escalator. Heart jumping up to his throat, Crowley followed him up. The last time he'd been here, he'd been disguised in Aziraphale's body, comforted by the fact that he belonged with the holy. Crowley had been cast out of Heaven and burned, boiled, savaged and torn into someone else entirely. He'd been entirely separated from his divinity and as the air around them began to shimmer with the magical essence of Heaven, he felt well and truly out of place.

The pair emerged into the smooth, pale building of Heaven's office. A few angels milled about on hoverboards, some trotted about with their wings out, others stood in groups, talking amongst themselves. While there was certainly no shortage of angels in the place, it still felt empty to Crowley. He a million eyes turn to face him, boring into his skin, burning him alive for the second time. He felt the intense need to run, but Aziraphale tightened a reassuring hand around his.

"What is the meaning of this?" Gabriel's voice cut through the gentle rumbling of Heaven like a burning blade. He strode towards the pair with Michael and Uriel by his side, fury blazing in his violet eyes. _At least mine never looked like that_, Crowley thought to himself. As much as he disliked his snake eyes, he'd choose them any day over the vile pastel colour of Gabriel's.

"Gabriel," Aziraphale began, but Gabriel lifted a hand to cut him off.

"You bring this scum here? You taint Heaven with his unholy spirit? You blaspheme!"

"Gabriel, please listen to me-"

"How dare you show your face here after what you did?" Gabriel was spitting mad, his face flushing red. Crowley would have torn the bastard's wings from his back for speaking to Zira like he did, but he was rooted to the ground as he saw a crowd gathering around them. He could only shake himself free of this trance when he noticed Aziraphale stuttering, totally afraid of the Archangel.

"Shut it," he snapped, and Gabriel's face went wild with fury. He opened his mouth to yell at what he thought was a demon, but the sound died in his throat as Crowley unfurled his pearly wings. His eyes boggled and his jaw fell open.

"But... but... how?"

"Surprise?" Crowley sourly shrugged. "Guess I'm back. Old Raph's back in town."

Shocked murmured echoed through the room, and a look of fearful shock filled Gabriel's eyes.

"R-Raphael..." Michael whispered. "It's you?"

"Well," Aziraphale mumbled, just as nervous as Crowley under so many judgemental glares. "He's Crowley. Crowley, now."

Crowley gratefully squeezed Aziraphale's hand once more, and gently smiled when he felt Zira's thumb brush over his knuckles once more. There was no end to how many times he would fall in love with his angel, when everything he did sparked a spiral in Crowley's mind. Every smile he wore while reading a book, every happy noise he made while biting into a pastry, every painfully innocent joke he'd attempt to tell, it all made Crowley fall, over and over again. He'd never stop falling, even when he'd been restored to the Light.

"Crowley is... hardly an angelic name," Gabriel muttered, completely taken aback by this change of events. "But we need to discuss this. You two, kindly follow me..."

He turned, and with his two fellow Archangels on his heels, he strode away. Zira and Crowley exchanged uneasy glances, before they moved on to follow the retreating three.

* * *

The second the door to Gabriel's office swung shut, the Archangel rounded on the pair of them.

"Right, you two disgusting little tricksters," he hissed. Both Aziraphale and Crowley's eyes shot wide open in shock. They'd been expecting some unpleasant comments, but this was something new entirely. "I don't know what's going on here, but you are going to tell me, and I am going to put a stop to it. This repulsive farce cannot be allowed to continue. You are stirring unease within Heaven and tainting the purity of our sacred halls."

"I... I'm sorry?" Aziraphale blinked.

"You disguise a demon as an angel and dare bring him here? You dare sully our purity?"

"If I'm not mistaken," Crowley began, carefully treading so as to not spill their secret. "During our trials, the Archangel Michael visited Hell. I was told that a demon was also sent up to Heaven. Therefore, by your logic, you sullied your own damned Halls long before I did."

Gabriel's eyes blazed, but he said nothing.

"And... this is no trick," Aziraphale continued. "Please, brother. The Almighty herself spoke to him. I watched it happen."

"You watched him talk to the Almighty?"

"Well... I watched him _change_. Back into an angel, I mean."

Gabriel chuckled, making Zira frown in confusion. Crowley, completely aware of the bad timing, couldn't help but notice the gentle lines forming in Zira's furrowed brow. He wanted to draw his angel into an embrace and wipe the fear from his face.

"You're too gullible, Aziraphale," Gabriel smiled. "You've clearly been tricked. This demon made a fool out of you, and for what?"

He waved his fingers forward, and Michael approached.

"I think there's only one way to settle this."

_I don't like this. I really, really don't like this._ One look over at Aziraphale told Crowley that his angel felt the same way.

Michael waved her hand, miracle'ing a blade into existence.

"Once removed, a demon cannot continue disguising a part of their body. As such, the simple answer here is clear."

Aziraphale stepped in front of Crowley protectively, but Gabriel threw him aside with a miraculous gust of wind. The Archangel continued with his smug smile stretching from ear to ear. It chilled Crowley's blood, and while he desperately wanted to scoop Zira from the floor and disappear with him, his feet had been firmly sealed to the floor.

"We need to remove his wings."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The second half of yesterday's chapter! I'm clearly an idiot because originally I was going to have them try and throw holy water over Crowley (which would then not have any effect since he's, you know, an angel now, but... they think he's immune lmao. So I went darker.)


	4. Wings

"What?" Aziraphale's horrified shriek sounded through the room. Crowley gritted his teeth, immediately furling his wings and shifting them back onto the ethereal plane.

"Fuck off, Gabriel," he hissed. He somehow felt more angry at how frightened Aziraphale sounded, and how painful it looked when his angel had been slammed to the floor, than he was by the enormity of the Archangels' threat. He shifted his leg, wanting nothing more than to stride forth and rip Gabriel's sadistic smile from his face, but he found that the feeling of his feet being sealed to the floor wasn't just nerves - one of the bastards must have miracled it so. He growled and glanced around them, his eyes fixing on Uriel as he noticed them grinning at his attempt to move.

_Bastards...!_

"We just need to be sure," Gabriel continued speaking, ignoring Aziraphale's previous interruption. He waved a hand and Zira was fixed to the floor just like Crowley, and rope snaked around his face, effectively gagging him. Fire filled Crowley's vision and he roared at the Archangel. He willed his snake form to appear and sink its fangs into the throat of the sadomasochistic bastard, but even his magic had been frozen. Gabriel didn't respond to Crowley's threat display, instead taking his place by Crowley's left shoulder while Uriel stood at his right.

"Trust me, Aziraphale," Gabriel began. "You'll feel much better once this monster's trickery is revealed and we prove to you what an abomination he is. Lying to an angel must be punished, after all..."

Michael stepped forward, still wielding her blade. It glinted as if sunlight was hitting it. Genuine fear gathered in the pit of Crowley's gut as she moved behind him, and ran her hand down his spine to find a particular spot between his shoulder blades. Once she'd found it, she pressed hard, forcefully manifesting the ex-demon's wings once more. He whined in pain as he felt the intrusion tearing his wings between planes, and tried to wrench himself away. He flapped his wings hard in an attempt to throw them off, trying his best to ignore Aziraphale's panicked cries, muffled by the crude gag between his teeth.

After gathering their bearings, Uriel and Gabriel both grabbed a pearly-white wing and stretched it out tightly, making Crowley whimper pathetically as he felt his feathers and joints painfully tugged too tightly. Some feathers pulled free and floated to the floor, where they remained white, although none of the Archangels paid much attention to that.

"How shall it be done?" Michael asked calmly, as if she were doing nothing more than asking which road she should take to reach the post office.

"Quickly," Gabriel muttered. "He's not going to stop struggling like this. Can you bind him?"

Crowley heard Michael snap her fingers, and his arms were pulled in front of him and tightly bound together. He hauled himself forwards in an attempt to pull free, but Uriel and Gabriel both managed to hold on tight. The effort only served to pull out more feathers. Sweat beaded along his forehead as he felt his gut clench in fear. Looking over at his angel, he saw Aziraphale silently weeping, still begging for mercy through his gag. The sight broke Crowley's heart - the source of Zira's misery was Crowley's plight.

_I'm such a selfish bastard._ If only he hadn't let himself love the angel for all these years, if only he'd driven him away, this never would have happened. Aziraphale would be happily living surrounded by his books. _Or he'd be dead, if the world had ended..._

He was brought back to his situation when he heard Michael grunt with effort. He looked over his shoulder to see her lifting the sword above her head, her eyes fixed on his left wing.

_Fuck. No, no please, don't._

The blade swung down.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

okaY I COULDN'T RESIST ENDING IT THERE

I'll start writing the next chapter immediately so it might also get uploaded tonight but I could NOT HELP ending it there. Sorry c:


	5. Redemption

**Note: **_Please make sure you read chapter 4, which was uploaded shortly before this chapter!_

* * *

Aziraphale watched with horror as Michael swung the sword down towards Crowley's beautiful wings, groaning with the sheer force of wielding such a weapon. Time seemed to move in slow motion as the angel watched the blade crawl downwards, until a flash of blinding light filled the room and all five of them let out a groan of pain as they were temporarily blinded. The sharp thud of the sword hitting its mark sounded, and Crowley yelled in pain.

_No! Oh, my dear,_ _no_! Aziraphale wailed through his gag. He closed his eyes tightly, unable to witness the horrible sight that he knew must be unfolding. He couldn't comprehend what had happened. Never again would he and Crowley sit facing each other by Aziraphale's fireplace cocooned in each other's wings, gently preening each other, taking romantic flights over the clouds to admire Crowley's stars... _Oh, Crowley, I'm so sorry... I brought you here..._

As time dragged on, however, he began to grow confused. He'd expected the sounds of Michael heaving up the sword and slicing off Crowley's other beautiful wing, maybe the sound of blood spilling onto the elegant marble of Heaven's floors, maybe pained sobs... but there was nothing but complete silence. He refused to open his eyes, not ready to see Crowley's gorgeous feathers limp on the floor, but his bones were chilled as a deep, familiar voice rumbled through the room, unmistakably furious.

"**What is the meaning of this?**" the voice thundered.

Finally, Aziraphale opened his eyes. Crowley was on his knees, trembling in complete shock, his wings wonderfully intact. Several feathers were dislodged and had floated to the floor, but he appeared to be unhurt. Michael clutched the hilt of her sword, the rest completely shattered to pieces - the Almighty must have destroyed it the second it touched Crowley's wing. Gabriel fell to his knees beside Crowley, clutching his hands together.

"Lord..." he whispered, in total adoration and very real fear.

"**Answer my question, Gabriel.**"

"L-Lord, a demon entered Heaven and impersonated an angel. We were unveiling his trickery."

"**What trickery? My angels Aziraphale and Crowley spoke the truth. I restored his Light.**"

Gabriel's eyes boggled out of his skull. Aziraphale would have found it hilarious, were he not quite so terrified.

"**And as for the angel Aziraphale? You have my most loyal Principality bound and fixed to the floor of your office.**"

Gabriel's face was white as a sheet. He looked like a ghost.

"M-my Lord, we felt that... that if Crowley had been lying, and... and tricking Aziraphale, he would have..."

"**Would have tried to stop you from needlessly mutilating another angel? From clipping his wings - not even that, cutting them off at the base?**** You disappoint me, Gabriel. You should have seen that it was no lie, when so many feathers lie detached on the floor.**"

None of the Archangels could say a word. Gabriel looked around the lost feathers scattered around the room, his face blank with panic as he noticed that they'd remained as white as snow. Michael shakily got to her feet and approcahed Aziraphale, releasing him from his binds and from the seal to the floor. Immediately, Aziraphale scrambled to his feet and rushed to Crowley's side, pulling him close to his chest. He felt Crowley's trembling arms weakly wrap around Aziraphale in return, and he buried his face in Zira's chest. The angel pressed soft kisses to Crowley's curly hair, holding him close and refusing to let go.

"**Thank you, Michael,**" the Almighty sounded pleased by her obedience. Gabriel was still pale and speechless. He dropped down, touching his forehead to the floor.

"F-forgive me, Lord..."

"**Convince me to,**" the Almighty responded, her voice stern. "**You riled up all of Heaven, just as Hell riled up their forces, and almost started a war that would destroy my entire Earthly creation. When Aziraphale helped put a stop to that war, you attempted to destroy him, too. You repeatedly worked against my will.**"

"I'm sorry!" Gabriel wept. He looked pathetic, Aziraphale thought to himself cynically as he regarded the pitiful Archangel on the floor.

"**Sorry doesn't always cut it, Archangel.**"

"Wh-what can I do? To make it up to you?" Gabriel begged, looking up.

"**Take Crowley back with open arms. Pardon both him and Aziraphale, and punish your fellows accordingly should they choose to punish them for their love.**"

Aziraphale blushed and nuzzled Crowley's hair gently. He could barely believe what he was hearing. Crowley was a dead weight on his chest, completely still save for his slight trembling.

"**Respect their wishes to live on Earth and allow them to continue working there. They need not be disturbed as I trust them to fulfil their duties. I will take it upon myself to supervise them should they need it, although I doubt they will. Disobey me again, Gabriel, and I will have you Fallen.**"

Gabriel swayed, completely shaken. "Y-yes, Lord... of course."

"**Don't disappoint me.**"

The light ebbed out of the room and the Almighty was gone. The Archangels all looked over at Crowley, still huddled with his face buried in Aziraphale's chest.

"I..." Michael began, and Uriel cut her off.

"We should apologise. We were... brash."

"You've been brash many times over the past 6000 years, _Archangel_," Aziraphale muttered sourly. "But nothing will ever compare to what you just did."

He stood, gently guiding Crowley to his feet as well. "We're going home. If you're going to do any announcements regarding this, you can do it without us."

The Archangels, all looking highly uncomfortable, shuffled their feet and nodded. Without waiting for any further response, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and in a moment both he and Crowley were back in the back room of his bookshop.

As soon as his feet touched familiar ground, Crowley sagged to the floor. He released a choked sob, shaking his head.

"Fuck, Aziraphale..."

"Hush, my love," Zira whispered, kneeling beside Crowley and brushing his hair away from his forehead. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought you there. I should have gone myself, with a message..."

"They would have tried to kill you," Crowley hoarsely whispered. "Maybe succeeded." He gently clutched Aziraphale's lapels and pulled him down, pressing their lips together with almost feverish urgency. "I would take torture... losing my wings, my eyes, _anything_... over losing you."

Aziraphale's heart melted. He pulled Crowley closer, kissing him again, matching the ex-demon's urgency from before.

"I'm still sorry," he whispered, pressing his forehead against Crowley's. "If they'd hurt you... I'd never forgive myself. Your poor wings..."

Crowley let out another shaky sob. Finally, tears began to escape his eyes as his adrenaline began to bottom out, leaving him exhausted. Aziraphale cradled him against his chest once more, letting him cry himself out.

* * *

Hours later, Aziraphale lay in bed, Crowley fast asleep in his arms. His cheeks were still stained with newly dried tears, and he'd hidden his wings, fearful to let anyone touch them - as much as it clearly ashamed him, not even Aziraphale. Zira understood it perfectly. Of course it hurt; any lapse in trust would, but he understood fully why it had happened. No matter of understanding the situation could make him stop blaming himself, however.

He pressed gentle kisses to Crowley's head as the clock ticked by, watching his shoulders move as he breathed, feeling his lover's heartbeat against his own chest. He desperately wanted to know how he could help, but all Crowley had been able to ask was to stay close. Of course, that would never be a problem. Crowley was all Zira had ever wanted.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

oKAY sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter! I really enjoyed writing the angsty stuff oops, I'm such a sucker for torture writing. Maybe someday I'll write an alternate fic where the sword doesn't shatter and Crowley has to live life without wings?

Until then I hope you enjoy! I'd love to read your reviews if you liked it!


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